


Family Matters

by GE72



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Gen, Murder Mystery, Organized Crime, Police Procedural, References to Former Cases, Return of Previous Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 14:57:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19087360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GE72/pseuds/GE72
Summary: (Season 5) The BAU agents are called to Baltimore to investigate a series of murders in which the victims were killed in the style of a hit man who died in prison. His victims were members of street gangs and organized crime outfits, all of whom were dating or involved with "good" girls.  The agents look for the unsub, who has his next target in his sights.





	1. Chapter 1

COLLEGE PARK, MARYLAND

In the hours before he died, Ricardo Vasquero was living it up.

The University of Maryland student was at a popular college hangout, called The Turtle Pub, just off campus. Him and a couple of his friends were at a table, enjoying some cold beer before it got warm. As usual, The Turtle was packed with college kids, all taking a break from Saturday night into Sunday morning.

Rico, as he was known, and his buddies, Steve Morehouse and Nate Burnett, were talking about making plans for the mid-semester spring break. A drive down Interstate 95 to Florida for all the sun, sand, and women.

“I have a pal down near Palm Beach,” said Steve. “His parents have a beach house we could use during the break.”

“Party central baby!” Rico cheered, as him and his friends toasted their beer steins. 

“How about a party with her?” Nate said, pointing at a beautiful blonde at the bar.

“Definitely,” Rico said. “Make way for the Latin lover!”

Rico got up from his chair and headed for the bar and the blonde, making his way through the crowd. He stopped inches from her, as she turned around.

“Hi there,” he said.

The blonde smiled at him as she sipped her drink. “Hello indeed,” she said back.

“I’m Rico, and I’d like to buy your next drink.”

“I’m Valerie and I’d like you to do that.”

She ordered a mimosa and he paid for the drink. Her full name was Valerie Kingman. The two began a conversation. They talked about things like college life, the weather, the blooming cherry blossoms.

“So, Valerie,” Rico said, “what do you want to do now?”

Valerie checked her wristwatch. “It’s close to midnight. What did you have in mind?”

“It’s a weekend. Anything goes.”

“Okay. But as long as my pumpkin coach doesn’t turn back into a beat up VW.”

Rico and Valerie turned to head out the door, only to have someone big, bull necked, and sporting a crew cut, blocking their way.

“Excuse us,” Rico said politely.

The big guy refused to move. “Sorry, she’s coming with me.”

Valerie demanded, “What are you doing here Nick?”

“Who is this guy?” Rico asked. “Your ex?”

“Brother,” Nick corrected.

“Brother?” Rico looked at Nick. “She doesn’t need your protection.”

“Yes, she does.” Nick looked at Valerie. “Just because you take college classes doesn’t mean you can party with them.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s still in high school!”

“What?!” Rico exclaimed.

Another big burly guy came over to where they were. It was The Turtle Pub’s bouncer.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

Nick quickly said, “She’s seventeen and we’re leaving!”

“Seventeen?!” the bouncer exclaimed.

“Check your ID’s more carefully,” Nick angrily said, “or my dad will have this place shut down. He can do that you know.” He looked at his sister, “We’re going.” He pulled his sister out from the crowd and out the door, as she protested loudly but to no avail.

Rico, defeated, went back to his table and his buddies.

“Easy come, easy go,” Nate said.

Rico nodded. “One more for the road?”

They had one more beer and called it quits. They left the Turtle Pub, with a good buzz going.

“We’re going to crawl to another bar,” Steve said. “Care to join us.”

“No, you go ahead,” Rico said. “I’m calling it a night.” He checked his watch. “Morning.”

Steve and Nate left, and Rico went over to his car, a late model Chevrolet. He reached into his pocket for the keys. As he pulled them out, he heard a click.

Rico turned around. Though there was a lamp post shining light in the parking lot, it wasn’t enough to make out who the person was coming towards him.

“Who are you?” Rico asked.

The person grabbed him by the collar with one hand, and raised his other hand. Rico saw what was in the other person’s hand.

Rico quickly said, “Hey, man, if it’s money you want – “ But he didn’t finish the sentence when the other person shoved the object in his mouth.

Back inside The Turtle Pub, the noise inside muffled the sound of the gunshot outside.

_________________________________________

“They found him after one a.m.,” the uniformed officer said to Detective Tom Lawrence. “People inside the bar heard what they thought was a shot, but didn’t think much of it.”

The parking lot of The Turtle Pub had been cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape. Only a couple of cars were there, since some of their owners cleared out once they heard of a body was at the scene. Police cruisers and a couple of unmarked cars were on the other side of the tape, courtesy of the College Park police. It was two a.m. Sunday morning.

“Someone gets shot and nobody gives a damn,” Lawrence grumbled. “Great.” He looked at the body, slumped against the driver’s side door. The victim had blood around his mouth which had made its way down his shirt and jacket.

“Who was this guy anyway?” Lawrence asked.

“According to his identification,” the officer said, “Ricardo Vasquero. A student at the University of Maryland. Just a college kid having a night on the town.”

Another officer came up to the scene. He said to Lawrence, “We’ve got company.”

A dark sedan had pulled up on the other side of the crime scene tape. Out got two men, both in dark suits and trench coats. One of them was bald, his head clearly shaved. Lawrence knew he was.

He asked, “Cramer, what brings the FBI out here?”

Josh Cramer, an agent with the Organized Crime Unit in the Baltimore FBI field office, walked over to where they were. His bald head was reflecting whatever light there was in the dark. “Heard you had a dead guy, male, early twenties.”

“Why do you care about this one?”

Cramer asked, “Who was he?”

“His name was Ricardo Vasquero,” Lawrence replied. “College kid at the U.”

“Anything special about him?”

“Nope,” Lawrence replied. “But earlier, from what we gathered, he tried to pick up some girl who got into the bar with a fake ID. Her brother showed up and dragged her out.”

“Got a name?”

“Still trying to find out. But what does the FBI care about this guy anyway?”

“We had three similar shootings up in Baltimore,” Cramer replied. “All shot the same way. One or two slugs in the mouth.”

“What is it? Drug hit?” Lawrence asked. “Jealous ex-boyfriend?”

“Maybe,” Cramer said back. “Look, we’re planning on taking over the investigation, but if you’d like to join up and put in your two cents worth, you’re welcome to.”

“Taking over?” Lawrence looked at the corpse, then back at Cramer. “I’ll put my two cents worth but if you’re taking over, fine by me.”

Cramer and his fellow agent, a younger man named Keith Johnson, walked back to their car.

“We’re taking over, simple as that?” Johnson asked, as they got in.

“Not quite that simple,” Cramer said. He started up the car and soon, they were driving up Interstate 95 back to Baltimore.

“We have three guys in Baltimore, who all got shot in the mouth in the past month, and now a fourth miles away at the University of Maryland,” Cramer said. “Does that sound like a drug war to you?”

“On the surface, yes. But it’s not, is it?” Johnson asked.

“I don’t believe so.”

“So, what? We’re talking about a psycho?”

“Most likely,” Cramer said. “And I know who to ask about psychos.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“It is a man’s mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways.”_ – Buddha

_____________________________________________________

QUANTICO, VIRGINIA  
FBI, BEHAVIORAL ANALYSIS UNIT

“I wouldn’t go in there,” Spencer Reid warned.

Aaron Hotchner, the section chief for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, was about to knock on the office door of David Rossi, when he stopped and looked over at Reid, down in the agents’ bullpen.

“He just came back an hour ago,” Reid said. “He wasn’t in a good mood.”

“Why not? Hotchner asked.

“We have no idea,” Emily Prentiss said from her desk. “He went downstairs a couple of hours ago, then came back an hour later. He looked a little upset, so we’re giving him some space.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Hotchner said. He knocked on the door. No answer. 

“I’m coming in Dave.” He opened the door slowly, then went inside.

“We’ll notify next of your kin,” Reid called out.

Rossi was sitting behind his desk. He was going through a file, but the look on his face showed something else. He looked like he was Mount St. Helens doing a slow simmer on his way to a big blow up.

“What’s wrong Dave?” Hotchner asked.

“Everything,” Rossi replied.

“Anything in particular?”

Rossi looked up as he put down the file. “I had a meeting with OPR this morning.” OPR was the Office of Professional Responsibility, the FBI’s equivalent of Internal Affairs for the police.

“What did they want with you?”

Rossi replied, “Some guys with RICO were upset that I may have spoken out of turn to Ray Finnegan when we all went to Long Island.”

Ray Finnegan was a friend of Dave’s when they lived on Long Island, New York when they were kids. Where as Rossi joined the Marines and later became an FBI agent, Finnegan became the head of the local Irish mob on Long Island. Finnegan was murdered by a hit man hired by a local judge who believed killing him would be an end to his criminal activities, when Rossi and the BAU went to Long Island on a case some months back.

The hit man, known as Bosola, was later found in Florida at a golf course some weeks later, shot and killed, allegedly by one of Finnegan’s enforcers.

“OPR said RICO agents arrested Ray’s man last week,” Rossi said. “OPR wanted to know if I had tipped off Bosola’s whereabouts. It was a joke. Don’t they have anything else better to do?”

“Probably not,” Hotchner said. “But you didn’t do anything wrong. You two were friends, nothing more.”

“It just bugs me that some people think to this day,” Rossi said disgustedly, “that because I grew up with a guy who became a gunrunner, or because I have an Italian surname, that I’m somehow connected to the mob.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hotchner reassured. “Once we get a case, you’ll forget about it.”

Hotchner turned to leave, only to see Jennifer Jareau – J.J. – coming up to him.

“We have a visitor,” the BAU’s media liaison said to him. “Josh Cramer just arrived from Baltimore.”

“Really? Social call?”

“No,” J.J. replied. “He says someone is killing gang bangers and mobsters up there.”

Rossi just shook his head. More mobsters.

________________________________________

 

The agents assembled in the conference room. Rossi, Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, and Jennifer Jareau, along with their technical analyst Penelope Garcia, sat down at the round table, as Hotchner and Josh Cramer followed in. The BAU had worked twice before with Cramer on cases involving organized crime in Baltimore.

“I believe most of you already know Josh Cramer from the Baltimore field office,” Hotchner said. 

“Hello, again,” Morgan said.

“And I’m glad to finally meet David Rossi,” Cramer said. He looked at Rossi. “I have one of your books. ‘Understanding Evil’.”

“You have a new fan,” Prentiss said to Rossi.

Morgan asked, “How’s Jimmy Baker?” Baker was an undercover agent and friend of Cramer’s that the BAU helped rescue from a mob hitman who liked to torture his victims.

“Jimmy’s doing great,” Cramer replied. “He’s actually on vacation. Him and his family are at Disneyland.” 

“So, what’s going on in Baltimore?” Reid asked.

“Actually, it’s both Baltimore and College Park,” Cramer said, gesturing to Garcia to click on the big screen. Photos of the victim and the crime scene appeared on the screen. “Late Saturday night, early Sunday morning, a student at the University of Maryland, Ricardo Vasquero, was found shot to death in the parking lot of a college bar called The Turtle Pub. Someone stuck a thirty-two caliber weapon into his mouth and pulled the trigger. Coroner said death was instantaneous.” He looked the agents. “He was the fourth victim, first outside of Baltimore.”

“Who were the other three?” Rossi asked.

Garcia clicked on different photos onto the screen. Cramer said, “First victim was 30 days ago. He was Jamal Backs, twenty years old. A member of the Southside Bloods. Dealt drugs in his neighborhood.”

More pics of another victim. “The second victim was Jose Marquez, nineteen years old. Originally from El Salvador. A member of the MS-13’s, as you know, a very nasty bunch. Also, a drug dealer. Baltimore police and DEA swept up his gang in a raid, but found him a few hours later. Killed the same way.”

Garcia clicked on another set of pics. “Third victim was Mike Camden,” Cramer said. “He was twenty one, but suspected of dealing meth to rich kids around Hampden, the neighborhood around Johns Hopkins. When the cops found his body, he had a wad of bills on him, but no drugs.”

“Unsub is crossing racial lines,” Morgan pointed out. “And he leaves the bodies out in the open.”

“He also could be a vigilante,” J.J. added.

“Was Vasquero a dealer as well?” asked Hotchner.

“No, he wasn’t,” Cramer replied, “but he easily could’ve been. He had the bloodlines.”

“Why is that?” 

“His father was Emilio Vasquero, a boss in the Colombian cartel out of Bogota before he got arrested years ago.”

“I checked for a criminal record on Ricardo Vasquero,” Garcia said. “None whatsoever.”

“I talked to my DEA contacts,” Cramer said. “Emilio Vasquero died six months ago in a Colombian prison. But apparently, he was okay with his son not following in his footsteps. He wanted his son to have a good life away from the cartels.”

“Maybe our unsub didn’t know that,” Morgan said.

“The method of execution is familiar,” Reid said. “It looks like the signature of a mob hit. Shoot him in the mouth as a warning for others not to squeal.”

“Close,” Cramer said. “It was the signature of a hit man named Sammy Santiago. He performed hits for mobsters up and down the East Coast before he was caught fifteen years ago.”

“He was convicted on nine murders, suspected in at least seven more,” Reid recalled, using his eidetic memory and 187 IQ. “Serving life in prison.”

“He did,” Cramer said. “Santiago died two months ago of a heart attack.”

“So, someone’s copying his style and using it now,” Rossi said.

“His victims are also young,” Prentiss pointed out. “Late teens, early twenties.”

“So, if it isn’t drugs,” Rossi said, “what could be our unsub’s motivation?”

Hotchner said, “We’ll find out when we get to Baltimore.”


	3. Chapter 3

The black SUV carrying Morgan and J.J. stopped in College Park, Maryland. The others – Rossi, Reid and Prentiss were in the other SUV, while Hotchner rode up in Cramer’s Lincoln sedan – continued on their way to Baltimore. Hotchner had Morgan and J.J. talk to Valerie Kingman at the University of Maryland to get her side of what happened Saturday night.

Before leaving Quantico, Morgan had Garcia look up Valerie’s class schedule. She had three classes, her last being over at 2 p.m. Valerie was also, technically, still in high school. Not a genius like Reid with his 187 IQ, but smart enough to take college classes as part of a Running Start program for high school seniors.

Morgan and J.J. parked the SUV and went over to Tawes Hall, where Garcia found out that was where Valerie Kingman had her last class of the day.

It was just before two o’clock when classes let out at Tawes Hall. Morgan and J.J. each had a photo of Valerie Kingman on their cell phones so they could identify her. They saw her in the crowd and went over to her.

“Valerie Kingman?” J.J. asked her. Valerie nodded. “We’re with the FBI.” They each showed her their credentials. “We’d like to speak to you about last Saturday night at the Turtle Pub.”

Valerie looked worried. “What exactly about?” she asked.

“Did you know this man?” J.J. asked, showing her a photo of Ricardo Vasquez on her cell phone. 

“Rico?!” Valerie said, her face turning pale. “I heard what happened to him. What do you want from me?”

“Do you know anyone who would want to hurt him?” Morgan asked.

Valerie hesitated before answering. “No.”

“Valerie, we know someone took out you out of there,” Morgan said. “Who was it?”

Valerie was about to answer but looked past both agents.

“Hey, who the hell are you two!” someone yelled at them.

Morgan turned around. A big, burly necked man was approaching.

“Leave her alone!” he snapped.

Morgan held out his credentials. “FBI,” he said. “Relax!”

He didn’t relax, nor did he listen. He shoved Morgan out of the way. Big mistake.

“Come on, sis, we’re going – “

A split second later, Morgan had grabbed him and threw him to the ground, holding and twisting his arm.

“Assaulting a federal agent?” J.J. said. “Boy, are you stupid.”

“That’s my brother, Nick,” Valerie said. “Stupid.”

Morgan handcuffed Nick, then pulled him on his feet. “Let me guess,” Morgan said. “He’s the one who pulled you out of the bar Saturday night.”

“He did,” Valerie said. 

“She had a fake ID!” Nick said. “She shouldn’t have been there in first place!”

“So I had a fake ID! I was experiencing the college life.”

“And Ricardo?” J.J. asked. “What about him?”

“He had no business being around my sister!” Nick insisted.

“My brother doesn’t want me dating anyone,” Valerie said. “And I do mean anyone!”

“Is that why you killed him?” Morgan asked.

Nick Kingman gave an incredulous look at Morgan. “What?!” he exclaimed. “He’s dead?”

Valerie gasped. “Oh, my God, Nick, what did you do?”

“I didn’t kill him! I just didn’t want him around Val, that’s all!”

“Where were you late Saturday, early Sunday morning?” J.J. asked.

“I was home!” Nick said. “I took my sister home and stayed there! Ask our parents! They were there when I brought her home!”

J.J. nodded. Morgan took the cuffs off of Nick Kingman. 

“You’re free to go,” Morgan said to him. “But let your sister go out on dates.”

“Just stay out of college bars,” J.J. said to Valerie.

The agents both watched as brother and sister left, then got back in their SUV to continue their trip to Baltimore.

_______________________________________

 

Hotchner and the other agents arrived at the Baltimore FBI field office in the Federal Building. They were set up in one of the conference rooms. A pin up board was up, with photos of the four victims, their identification and photos from the crime scene already pinned up. An hour later, Morgan and J.J. arrived, and informed the others of their encounter with Nick Kingman.

“We called the Kingman’s parents on our way up,” J.J. reported. “They confirmed Nick being home at the time of Vasquero’s murder.”

“Can you arrange a meeting with some of the friends of the victims?” Hotchner asked Cramer.

“Most of them in jail,” Cramer replied. “It’ll be easy. You think they might know something?”

“Probably,” Reid replied. “They just don’t know it yet.”

“I wonder how our hit man chose to kill in the style of another hit man who’s already dead,” Prentiss said.

“Maybe some kind of apprentice or a fan, or just a copycat,” Rossi said. “It could also be a coincidence. It’s been known to happen.”

“I read that Santiago used a .44 caliber on his victims,” Reid said. “Our unsub is using a .32 caliber.”

“I wonder who Santiago talked to before he died,” Prentiss said.

“Santiago was in federal prison at Chesapeake,” Cramer said. “I can find out who was his cellmate was.”

“Garcia can find out faster,” J.J. said.

“And I can tell you who right now.” Two men walked into the conference room, both in suits. One was in his late 40’s, his brown hair turning lighter in color. The other was about thirty, still youthful looking with black hair.

“Josh, heard you brought back some big guns from Quantico,” the older man said.

“Hey, John, how’re you doing?” Cramer said. “Agents, this is John Layton and his second in command, Matt Keating. They’re both with the U.S. Attorney’s office.” The agents said hello, as Cramer introduced them to the lawyers.

“I’ve heard of Hotchner, he used to be a prosecutor,” Layton said. “And I have a couple of Rossi’s books.”

“Another fan,” Prentiss said to Rossi.

“Glad to meet you,” Rossi said. He shook his hands with Layton, and did the same with Keating. But the look on Keating’s face looked of reluctance. 

“To answer your question,” Layton said, “his cellmate was a guy named Dan Olansky. We were one of the last ones to talk to Santiago. State cops found a decomposed body near Bladensburg and it had the earmarks of his signature. We visited him at Chesapeake and he said he didn’t do that one. A week later, his heart stopped.”

“Did he say anything else?” Reid asked.

“No, that was pretty much it,” Keating said. “My father was actually the one who put him behind bars. He was the lead prosecutor. It was the biggest case of his career.”

“He’s retired now?” Hotchner asked.

Keating nodded reluctantly. “He is.”

“He must be proud of you.” 

“Yes, he is.”

“Well, we’ll let you get back to work,” Layton said. “We have some indictments to draw up. Nice meeting you guys.” Layton and Keating left the conference room, as the agents got back to finding their unsub.

Hotchner said, “Prentiss and Reid, go to the morgue and see about the victims. Morgan, you and J.J. talk with some of the MS-13’s and Camden’s friends in custody. Maybe one of them knows something. Me, Cramer, and Rossi will go over to Chesapeake and talk with Santiago’s cellmate.”

Morgan’s cell phone rang, and he already knew who it was. He put the phone on speaker. “Hey baby girl.”

“Hello, crimefighters,” Garcia said from Quantico. “I just did background checks on all four victims. All but Ricardo Vasquero have criminal records. Both Backs and Marquez have been in and out of jail, both juvie and adult, since they were young. But Mike Camden only one arrest for possession before his murder.”

“That is interesting,” Morgan said. 

Hotchner said, “Garcia, look into Sammy Santiago’s cellmate at Chesapeake Federal Prison. His name is Dan Olansky. And see who else visited Santiago.”

“Will do. Garcia out!”


	4. Chapter 4

Hotchner and Rossi, along with Cramer, were at the Chesapeake Federal Prison. They had asked the warden to talk to the cellmate of Sammy Santiago. 

Don Olansky was another hit man serving federal time. He had been convicted of five murders and was serving consecutive life sentences; he got caught when he tried to kill the wife of a Delaware senate candidate on orders from the campaign manager.

The agents and Olansky sat down at a table in the common area, under the watchful eyes of the guards.

“So, what did you guys talk about?” Rossi asked.

“The usual,” Olansky replied. “What are you going to do when you get out? What do you miss about the outside? The weather, that kind of thing.”

“You two didn’t compare notes?” Cramer asked.

“What’s there to compare?” Olansky said. “We both did our business the same way. We shot our guys. But he shot his guys in the mouth. A bit much if you ask me, but as long as the job gets done, who cares?”

“So Santiago didn’t pass his signature style on to anyone?” Hotchner asked.

“If he did, he didn’t tell me,” Olansky answered. “Why, what’s going on?”

“Apparently he has a fan,” Rossi said. “Or maybe he had help when he doing his job.”

“No way,” Olansky insisted. “He told me he did his business solo.”

“What about visitors?” Cramer asked. “Anyone stick out?”

“Nope, just that prosecutor fellow a week before he died. Heard he was the son of the guy who put Sammy in here.”

“That’s all?” Hotchner asked.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s all,” Olansky said. “His own lawyer came by as well.”

“Who’s that?” Cramer asked.

“Petralli.”

“Leonard Petralli,” Cramer said to Hotchner and Rossi. “If you looked in the dictionary for the meaning of mob lawyer, his picture will be there.”

“Thanks for your time,” Hotchner said to Olansky.

“That’s all I have in here.”

______________________________________

 

At the morgue, Prentiss and Reid examined looked over the body of the last victim, Ricardo Vasquero, laid out on the examination table. A sheet was over his torso. One could’ve been put over his face too, considering where he had been shot.

“Getting shot in the mouth is not the prettiest way to go,” the coroner, Doctor Henry Lambrey, said. “The bullet goes out the back of your head and takes the inside of your mouth with it.”

The description made Prentiss wince. There was no such reaction from Reid.

“Was it just one shot to the mouth in all the victims?” Reid asked.

“One is all it takes,” Dr. Lambrey said. “Though in the case of Mr. Marquez, it took two shots. There was powder residue on his hands, as if he tried to get his hands on the gun.”

“Sounds like a struggle,” Prentiss said.

“All with the same weapon?” Reid asked. “A .32 caliber.”

“All the same in the victims,” Dr. Lambery replied. “Must have been an automatic in my opinion.”

“Anything else that stood out?” Prentiss asked.

“From my findings,” Lambrey replied, “two of the victims, Marquez and Backs, they were on their knees when he shot them. The knees of their pants had scuff marks on them. He may have made them look up at him when he shot them.”

“He’s a sadist,” Reid said. “He wants power over them.”

“All this over drugs?” Prentiss asked.

“Vasquero was a cartel boss, but Ricardo was clean,” Reid said. “This may have been about something else entirely.”

__________________________________________________

 

Morgan and J.J. were at the Baltimore City Detention Center. They were speaking to the friends of the murder victims.

In one interrogation room, Morgan was with Raul De Liso, one of the MS-13’s who got scooped up in the DEA raid the night of Marquez’ murder. Like most of the MS-13’s, Raul was covered in tattoos to signify his loyalty to the gang. Some were on the side of his face, patterned to look like he was a Mayan deity. Except this deity dealt crystal meth and packed a semi-automatic on the streets until he got arrested.

“You should consider yourself lucky,” Morgan said to him. 

“Lucky?” Raul replied in a thick Salvadoran accent. “I’m in here, got no bail, and I can’t get my sister the money she needs for rent.”

“You’re alive, unlike your buddy Jose.”

“What about Jose? Who killed him?”

“Maybe you could tell me,” Morgan said. “He must have pissed off someone bad for this to happen.” He showed Raul a couple of photos of where Jose got shot. 

Raul shuddered at the sight of the photos of his friend’s demise. “Hey, man, that’s not cool.”

“Neither is dealing meth. Did he have a problem with anyone?”

“Everyone had a problem with us,” Raul boasted, getting his bravado back. “But they weren’t going to do anything because they know what was going to happen if they did.” He pointed at the photo with Jose after he had been shot. “No one has the cajones to do this.”

“Well, someone did,” Morgan said back. “Did he sell to someone who OD’d? Or maybe someone warned him about selling in his neighborhood and he didn’t listen. Someone wanted revenge and got it.”

“I don’t know who did that,” Raul insisted. “But if and my crew get out of this, we’ll find him.”

In another interrogation room at the detention center, J.J. was talking to Kevin Forrester, a friend of Mike Camden. Forrester, twenty one years old and a student at Johns Hopkins, was helping Camden deal crystal meth and ecstasy to the rich kids of Baltimore. Forrester got arrested the day after Camden’s murder, holding over a pound of meth, inside his parent’s home in suburban Towson.

“What’s a rich guy like you doing selling meth?” J.J. asked. “Didn’t you have enough money already?”

“I would have if I could get a hold of my trust fund,” Forrester replied, “which I couldn’t do until I was twenty-four. My dad was going to cut me off.”

“Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Mike Camden?” J.J. asked.

“Don’t you mean kill?” Forrester replied. “No, I don’t. We just sold the meth, that’s all.” 

“He didn’t get on anyone’s bad side?”

“When you get flush with cash, you can’t get on anyone’s bad side. We sold the stuff, made our money, and went out on the town. We’d go to clubs, girls wouldn’t leave us alone.”

“Maybe there was a jealous ex-boyfriend.”

“None that we saw. Nobody could compete with us. When you have money, nothing else matters.”

J.J. said, “Tell that to your friend.”

Next up for Morgan, was Roland Dexter, a member of the Southside Bloods with Jamal Backs. He was seventeen, his hair braided, and attitude to match.

“No, I don’t know who killed Jamal,” Roland snapped. 

“Not a clue?”

“Hell no.”

“C’mon man. Someone shoves a gun in your friend’s mouth and pulls the trigger, and you have no idea who did it?”

“Hey, if we cap a guy, we don’t do it in his mouth. None of the gangs do. Even if he’s a snitch.” He looked at Morgan oddly. “Why, did Jamal snitch?”

“He got on somebody’s bad side somehow,” Morgan said back. “Anybody threaten him? Did he mess with someone with he wasn’t supposed to?”

“If anyone messed with Jamal, he messed with them right back so they wouldn’t do it again.:”

“Anyone in particular?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“There’s a guy going around doing this, and he’s not a banger. He’s one seriously sick human being.”

Roland thought about it, then said, “Jamal told me something a few days before he got killed. Some guy came around, told Jamal to stay away from his girl.”

Morgan asked, “He made a move on someone else’s lady?”

“Jamal told the guy he’ll take any girl he wants. The guy got pissed, grabbed Jamal, and threatened him. ‘Stay away from my little girl.’” Then Roland said, “I think it might have been the girl’s daddy.”

“Girl got a name?”

"Katrina. I don’t know her last name. But Jamal said she goes to some private school. Seton something.”

Morgan knew which school he was talking about. The Seton Keough School, one of the prestigious private schools in Baltimore.

Morgan went over to the other interrogation room. He informed J.J. and told her to ask if Camden had a girlfriend. 

“Girlfriend?” Forrester asked. “Like I said, girls were throwing themselves at us when we went to the clubs.”

“Any girl in particular stand out?” J.J. countered. “Or maybe a jealous boyfriend who didn’t like Mike hitting on his girl.”

“If he had a girl, he didn’t tell me.”

After their interrogations, Morgan and J.J headed back to the Baltimore federal building.

“Our unsub is a jealous boyfriend?” J.J. wondered aloud. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Well, it could be pointing us in the right direction,” Morgan said. “If you were the parent of a teenage girl, would you want her dating a guy who was dealing drugs.”

“I know me and Will wouldn’t want Henry dating a girl was who was dealing.”

“Exactly.”

__________________________

 

That night, the large estate home of Frank Carlotti was under surveillance. 

The man watched through his camera lens as the black Lincoln pulled into the driveway. Two big men got out of the front seat, and a third got out of the back seat. He was much younger than the other two by about twenty years. 

The two men escorted the younger man inside the house.

Inside, they led him to the large parlor, or living room. Carlotti was talking to his lawyer.

“I’ll do what I can,” the lawyer, Leonard Petralli, said. “But no guarantees. That indictment is coming down, no matter what.”

“I understand,” Carlotti said. “How’s your family?”

“It’s all good,” Petralli replied. “Steven is on the carrier in the Middle East, and Danielle made honor roll.”

“That’s great. Tell your wife and kids I said hi.”

“Will do.”

Petralli left, leaving Carlotti with the visitor.

“Hi Paul.”

“Hi dad.”

“How’s school?”

“It’s going okay.” He then said, “Dad, why did you bring me here?”

“Just thought I’d give you the heads up. It looks like I’m getting indicted soon.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much,” Carlotti said. “I just want to make sure things are okay with you.”

“They are.”

“Good.”

“Then I can go?”

“My men can drive you back.”

“Do they have to?”

“You can’t walk back to your aunt’s place.”

“Thanks dad.”

A couple of minutes later, Paul Carlotti – the name Paul Torrance was on all his school records – was being driven back to his aunt’s home.

Nobody inside the Carlotti house had known they were under surveillance.

The man doing the surveillance left. He had another job to do that night.


	5. Chapter 5

The agents found a hotel to spend the night in downtown Baltimore. Monday night became Tuesday morning as the sun rose over Maryland for the start of a new day.

And another dead body.

It was after eight thirty in the morning. No sooner had the BAU agents entered the bullpen area of the field office, Josh Cramer was there to meet them.

“Baltimore police found a body this morning,” he quickly said. “Killed the same way – gunshot to the mouth.”

“Where?” Hotchner asked.

“Near the docks.”

“Russian neighborhood,” Reid said. 

The boy genius agent was right. The body of a 21-year old male, six feet tall, blond hair, blue eyed, had been found in the alley way between a convenience store and a Russian Orthodox church. The neighborhood was predominantly first and second generation Russian and Eastern European immigrants.

The coroner and crime scene techs were all over the scene as the agents looked over the corpse.

“According to his driver’s license,” Cramer reported, “his name is Ivan Zavkov. Lives a few blocks away. Coroner said he’s been dead for at least eight hours.”

“I’ll call Garcia for a criminal record,” J.J. said, taking her phone out.

Reid examined the victim’s hands. “There’s a little callousing on his hands,” he said. “Maybe has a job doing some lifting.”

“Well, the docks are close by,” Hotchner pointed out.

Morgan added, “So’s Little Kiev.”

“Come again?” asked Rossi.

“It’s a restaurant,” Morgan replied. “It’s also where the local Russian mob conducts business.”

“Arseny Lysowsky is still in charge,” Cramer said.

On the street, a black Lincoln Town Car drove slowly by. It caught the attention of the agents as it passed.

“And now he knows,” Prentiss remarked.

“Garcia just ran a check,” J.J. reported. “No criminal record whatsoever. However, Ivan has a big brother named Stepan, currently serving time for assault in jail.” 

“Five dead,” said Rossi, “and five sets of mobsters and gangs about to go looking for who’s doing this.”

“Me and Reid will talk to Lysowsky,” Morgan said. “We’ve dealt with him before. See what he knows, and keep him from doing anything stupid.”

“See if Ivan had a girlfriend,” suggested J.J.

Leaving Reid and Morgan behind, the other agents returned to the federal building. Once they arrived, federal prosecutors Layton and Keating were there as well.

“We heard there was another murder,” Keating said. Cramer filled him in on what happened.

“This guy’s all over the place,” Layton said. “Sounds like he’s trying to get rid of a person per mob group.”

“Starting a mob war is the last thing this city needs,” Hotchner said.

“So, what’s the plan?” Prentiss asked.

“Me and Rossi will go over to Seton Keough and talk to Jamal Backs’ girlfriend,” Hotchner said. “Garcia got her name last night.”

“Hey, here’s an idea,” Layton said. “Matt, why don’t you accompany the agents?”

Keating looked at Layton. “Why me?”

“Why not? Get a little more in the way of experience. See what they do first hand.”

Keating nodded, though it looked reluctant. 

“I’ll get a tip line started,” J.J. said, “and prepare a press statement in case the reporters start realizing someone’s trying to start a mob war.”

With that, Hotchner and Rossi, along with a reluctant Keating, headed for the Seton Keough School.

_________________________________________

Morgan and Reid knocked on doors in the neighborhood where Zavkov’s body was found. Most of the people who were there said they did not hear or see anything unusual. Both agents got the feeling that they were all telling the truth.

After they were done at the crime scene, the two of them drove over to Little Kiev, the Russian restaurant and business headquarters of the local Russian mob.   
The Lincoln Town Car that had cruised by the crime scene earlier was there, along with a few other luxury cars. A group of big, bull necked men were standing guard over the cars and the main entrance of the restaurant.

Reid and Morgan walked towards the entrance of the restaurant. One of them came over and stepped in front of them. “We’re closed,” he said in a menacing tone.

Reid replied in Russian, “Tell Mr. Lysowsky that the FBI would like to speak with him.”

The restaurant door opened. Another man said something in Russian.

The man in front of them stepped aside. Reid and Morgan walked inside. “I think we were expected,” Reid said.

The last time they were here was with Jason Gideon, when they were investigating a series of kidnappings of local Russians. The culprit turned out to be Lyov Lysowsky, the son of Arseny Lysowsky, the local boss, and his girlfriend, Natalya Chernus, who had her own father kidnapped to finance an escape from the life. When the Russians found out who was behind the kidnappings, they told the FBI they would take care of the problem themselves.

Neither Lyov Lysowsky and Natalya Chernus had not been seen or heard from since.

Arseny Lysowsky was at a small table, eating a late breakfast. Usually, he would be eating borscht made from his mother’s recipe. Instead, he was eating bacon and eggs, but there was a small bottle of Smirnov on the table.

“Good to see you again,” Lysowsky said in his Russian accent as he stood up from behind the table and shook Morgan’s hand.

“Likewise,” Reid said politely with a wave.

“I take it you are here about Ivan Zavkov.”

“We are,” Morgan said.

“I know his family,” Lysowsky said. “They are good people, hard working.”

“We understand Ivan has a brother,” Reid said. “Stepan.”

“He does,” Lysowsky replied, “and before you ask, no, Ivan did not work for me. Stepan beat up a man who threatened his brother. That was two years ago.”

“Was it over a girl?” Morgan asked.

Lysowsky gave them a quizzical look. “What makes you think that?”

“Just a question.”

“It was over a girl,” Lysowsky finally said. “Why, is that important?”

“Maybe,” Reid replied. “You are aware of what’s been going on here in Baltimore?”

“I have been monitoring the situation. Ivan and a young man down at the University of Maryland. One because of his father, Ivan because of his brother.” 

“What does his brother do for you?” Morgan asked.

“I’d rather not say,” Lysowsky replied, “but Ivan shouldn’t pay for what his brother does. Stepan worked for me so Ivan wouldn’t have to. Ivan went to university over at Towson State but was taking time off to work and help his family. Like I said, he is – was – a good man from a good family.”

“Thank you,” Reid said to Lysowsky. “We’ll be in touch.”

“One more thing,” Morgan said to Lysowski. “Let us do our job. We’ll be doing our best to find out who did this.”

“I know you will,” Lysowsky said back. “But I must warn you. If me and my colleagues find this person first, we will deal with him in our own way. I’ve been in touch with some of the people in my business here in the city, and they are of the same mind. If they find this person first, they will deal with him.”

Reid and Morgan knew there was no doubt that Lysowsky was going to do so, as would the other gangs in Baltimore. In their previous meeting, Lysowsky said there is control…and dead. He was in control when his son committed his crimes, and he was in control still.


	6. Chapter 6

“I heard you came out of retirement.” Keating said from the backseat of the SUV.

“I did,” Rossi replied, as Hotchner drove the SUV through Baltimore.

Keating nodded. “So what kind of books do you write?”

“Non-fiction,” Rossi replied. “Cases that I’ve worked in the past.”

“Interesting.”

“Not a fan?”

“Haven’t read many books lately.”

Rossi looked at Hotchner. The look between them was one of agreement. Something was up Keating’s backside, either about the BAU in general or Rossi in particular.

They arrived at the Seton Keough School. Through Garcia, they learned the girl in question was Katrina McDonald, a senior at the school.

It was lunch hour at Seton Keough, so the agents and Keating were directed by the principal to her. Katrina McDonald, an African American girl of seventeen, was sitting with a couple of other girls at a table, gabbing away as they had their lunch.

“Katrina McDonald?” Hotchner asked, as the agents showed their identification. “May we speak with you?”

Katrina nodded, as they led her away from the lunch area, so they could speak privately.

“What is this all about?” she asked.

“Jamal Backs,” Rossi said. “How well did you know him?”

“Well enough,” she replied. 

“You knew he was dealing drugs, didn’t you?”

“Keep it down!” Katrina suddenly exclaimed, trying to keep her own voice down. 

“Okay, so you knew,” Hotchner said. 

“Yes, I knew,” Katrina said. “But I never bought from him. I told I never would, and he never tried to sell me.”

“When did your father find out?” Rossi asked.

“Two weeks after I met him. I don’t know how, but he did. He hit the roof when he found out Jamal was in a gang. He told to never see him again. Next thing you know, I heard Jamal was dead.” She looked at the agents. “My dad didn’t do this.”

“We’re not saying he did,” Keating said.

“Look, I know it looks bad,” Katrina said. “When Jamal was around, all he did was talk doing this to get his mom and little brother out of the ‘hood. That’s why he was dealing. He said he wanted to be normal but couldn’t. Being around me, he said it was like he was never in a gang.”

“Did he have any problem with anyone else?” Rossi asked.

“Probably, but he didn’t tell me.”

“Thanks for your time,” Hotchner said. They began to turn away, but Rossi suddenly asked, “By the way, what does your father do for a living?”

Katrina replied, “He’s a trooper with the Maryland State Police.”

_____________________________________________

 

Meanwhile, over at James Madison High School, it was also the lunch hour. The students gathered in their various groups and cliques to discuss the day’s events in general.

The popular girl in the school was Danielle Petralli, a senior who was also a cheerleader and on the honor roll at Madison. Every guy wanted to date her, every girl wanted to be her.

“So here’s the plan,” she said to her friends at her table. “Everyone meets at the Harborside after the game on Friday night and, win or lose, we’ll party on!”

“Does that include us?” Steve Kaye, one of the football team captains asked, as him and some of his teammates came over, most of them wearing their letterman jackets.

“You guys can come,” Daniele replied. “No booze whatsoever, so you guys won’t get trouble.”

“All right!” Steve cheered, exchanging high fives with his pals. He said to his fellow jocks, “First we win, then we par-tay!” 

As they cheered and laughed, Danielle noticed one of Steve’s friends start to walk away. He didn’t have a letterman’s jacket, but he was considered a good guy.

“Hey, Erik,” Danielle called out, as she got up and followed him. “Wait up.”

Erik Cordell kept on walking. Steve noticed him leaving as well, and followed him.

“Erik, stop!” He didn’t.

Finally, Danielle caught up to Erik. “Hey, Erik –“

He quickly and curtly said, “No.”

“But Erik, I just wanted – “

“No.”

“Hey, Erik,” Steve said as he came up to them. “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “Just keep her away from me.”

“Man, what for? Can’t you see – “

“I see and the answer is no.” Erik sounded like he was about to blow like Mount St. Helens.

“Come on, she just wants to talk to you.”

Danielle said, “Erik, don’t you want to come to the Harborside on Friday? I’m inviting – “

“No, forget it,” Erik said. “Not interested.”

Steve said, “Jeez, Erik, don’t you want to – “

“Come on, Steve! You know I can’t be seen with her!” With that, he walked off to his next class down the hallway. Danielle was about to say something to Steve, when they both heard him call her with contempt, “Mafia princess.”

______________________________________________

When they got back to the federal building, the agents compared notes from their talks with Arseny Lysowsky and Katrina McDonald. Then Hotchner called Garcia.

“Speak, oh wise one in charge,” Garcia said from Quantico.

“You’re on speaker. Look for an arrest record on Stepan Zavkov,” he instructed. “Look for a female name, she was the cause of Zavkov’s assault.”

“A girl’s honor at stake,” Garcia quipped. “Chivalry is not dead, it’s just on social media.” A few seconds later, she said, “Here it is. Stepan Zavkov beat a guy senseless after the guy threatened to kill his brother for talking to his ex-girlfriend because he still believed she was his girlfriend. The girl’s name was Wendy Ambrose.”

“Look up her name, and see what her parents do for a living, especially if it’s in law enforcement.”

“Here we go. Her parents are John and Eileen Ambrose. He’s a police officer in Baltimore.”

“Okay, now look up the parents of Valerie Kingman and see if one of them is also in law enforcement.”

“Got it. Victor Kingman is a twenty-year veteran of the DEA, stationed out of D.C.”

“Check Mike Camden’s previous arrest,’ J.J. said. “See if there was a girl involved.”

“Three for three,” Garcia replied. “He was arrested with a girl. Misdemeanor possession. The girl’s name was Cindy Polson.”

“And her father was a cop,” guessed Morgan.

“Wrong,” Garcia said. “Her father is with the Baltimore City Planning office, her mother is a doctor at Harborside Medical Center.”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Hotchner said. “We might have more names later so be close by.”

“Will do!”

“So, it seems a number of our victims have been dating girls who had parents in law enforcement,” Prentiss noted.

“And our unsub doesn’t like it,” added Rossi.

“And there’s a good chance Jose Marquez probably got too close to a cop’s daughter as well,” Morgan noted. “Whether she knew he was a dealer or not.”

“But Cindy Polson’s parents were not in law enforcement,” Prentiss pointed out. 

“Maybe our unsub didn’t know that,” Reid said.

“That may not matter to the unsub,” Rossi said.

Morgan asked, “Is our unsub killing these people because he can’t get a date?”

“Not quite,” Hotchner said. Then he added, “It’s time to give the profile.”

________________________________________________

Cramer and the other Baltimore field agents gathered in the bullpen, as the BAU prepared to give their profile of their unsub. Layton and Keating were also there, as they wanted to see how these profilers saw the person they were looking for.

“We’re looking for a male in his late twenties to early thirties,” Hotchner began. “We’re classifying him as a vigilante, because of his choice of victims.”

Rossi said, “Our unsub chooses his victims not only because of their crimes, if they committed any, but because they crossed social lines. He regards them as lower class citizens who are not worthy in his estimation.”

Reid continued, “Our unsub was brought up believing there is a stringent dividing line between right and wrong. And even though some of the victims did not commit any crimes, in his mind, they are criminals because of the bloodlines. They are their sons and daughters, therefore, they must be criminals like their parents.”

Prentiss added, “One or both of his own parents were in law enforcement, and he wanted to follow in their footsteps. He believed through his parents or by his own beliefs, in that line dividing right and wrong, and behaved as such. Probably to the point where he expected the others around him to behave like he did. When those around him couldn’t conform to his way of thinking, he didn’t want to be around them.”

Cramer asked them, “So there is a good chance that the unsub is in law enforcement?”

“Probably, but not necessarily,” Morgan answered. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if the unsub was turned down when he applied to the police academy or unable to get a job within law enforcement.” He added, “The unsub could also be a crime victim as well, or possibly could’ve been a witness to a crime, that traumatized him and felt that justice, in both instances, was not served.”

“Therefore, he’s operating outside the law,” J.J. said, “becoming a vigilante.”

“You said he crossed social lines,” Cramer said, “and the victims have dated someone in law enforcement. Would that be a catalyst?”

“More like a stressor,” Hotchner answered. “If you, as a law enforcement official, had a young one who was dating someone who was in a gang or has a parent who was involved in organized crime, you’d hit the roof as well.”

“And the shooting his victims in the mouth?”

“He copied Sammy Santiago for his own reasons,” Rossi said. “His own personal touch, being a copycat of a criminal who’s already dead.”

As the profile continued, a young woman, about eighteen years old, came into the bullpen. She had sandy brown hair, blue eyes, and was wearing a knit sweater, and slacks. She sidled up next to Layton.

“Look for those who denied entry into the police academy, or into any law enforcement jobs,” Hotchner said. “Also, look for minor incident reports involving organized crime figures, anything of a personal nature. Thank you.”

The field office agents dispersed, as Cramer came up to the BAU agents.

“So some guy’s going around killing people just because their daddy was in the mob or he got turned down by a girl who’d rather go out with a bad boy,” Cramer remarked. “Great.”

“These days, the littlest things can set off a guy,” Prentiss said.

Rossi and Hotchner went over to Layton and Keating. 

“Nice presentation,” Layton said. “You guys sound pretty certain of this man.”

“We are,” Hotchner said.

“Call me a skeptic,” Keating said, “but it sounds to me like guess work.”

“It’s not,” Rossi said. “It’s behavioral science. He looked at the young woman. “And you are?”

Layton replied, “This is my daughter, Susan.” 

“Hi there,” she said. The agents returned the hello.

“What brings you here?” Layton asked his daughter.

“I’m here to see you daddy,” she replied. “I just got done with classes. I’ll be out at a friend’s place later.”

“Does your mother know?” 

“She does.”

“Okay, Susan.”

“Be a good little girl like your daddy wants,” Keating said jokingly.

“I will.” She kissed her father and left.

“Good kid,” Rossi said. 

“She is,” Layton said. “She’s going to University of Maryland after high school.”

“Let me guess,” Hotchner said. “Pre-law?”

“That’s the hope.”

_____________________________________

Outside the federal building, Susan Layton walked up to her friend that was waiting for her.

Her friend asked, “Everything okay inside?” 

“It is.”

“Did you lie?”

“No,” Susan replied. “I told him I would be at a friend’s place. I just didn’t tell him it was yours Paul.”

The two walked off, not realizing that somebody was watching from a window above inside the Federal Building.


	7. Chapter 7

Wednesday was busy not just for the BAU agents, but also the other feds in the building.

The BAU agents had come in as Layton and Keating were headed out.

“Busy day?” Hotchner asked them.

“Grand jury,” Layton said. “By the end of the day, we’re indicting another organized crime figure.”

“Which one?”

“Frank Carlotti,” Keating replied. “We’ll be in touch.” As the prosecutors walked by, Keating seemed to avoid eye contact with Rossi. 

The prosecutors went on their way, and the agents went into the conference room and discussed the plan for the day. They would try to find any more connections between gang bangers and their girlfriends – if they had one – so to find their unsub.

Morgan and Prentiss would be going into the Baltimore neighborhood where the MS-13’s conducted business. Though the Baltimore police had arrested a good number of them for dealing, there were a few who were still doing business on the streets in plain view. Reid and J.J. would go to the coroner’s office, to look over the corpse of Ivan Zavkov.

After they left, Hotchner and Rossi were left in the conference room.

“Hey Hotch,” Rossi said, “is it me or is Keating kind of a…” He searched for an appropriate word to use.

“I think the younger generation uses the word ‘douchebag’,” Hotchner said.

“A bit strong, but it’ll do. I wonder what his problem is.”

“I noticed it too.”

“I say something to him, he looks at me, and the temperature in the room drops to freezing.”

“Maybe he has a lot on his mind,” Hotchner said. “Grand jury indictments, prosecuting mobsters, that kind of thing.”

“That, or he’s not very sociable,” Rossi said. 

“Well, just give it a rest,” Hotchner suggested.

Rossi said, “For now.”

A few minutes later, Cramer came into the room.

“I’ve been talking with some of the Baltimore police just now,” he said. “They’ve been in contact with the gangs and mob outfits. They said they’re going to stay back. They’ve agreed to let us do our job and find this psycho. But they’re also saying if they find this guy first, they’ll take care of whoever it is.”

“I believe them,” Rossi said. 

________________________________________________

 

With a couple of uniformed officers from the Baltimore police, Morgan and Prentiss went to a bodega on a corner where some of the MS-13’s hung out.

They approached the gang. “Hi there,” Morgan said, showing them their badges.

_“No able engles,”_ one of them replied with a sneer.

Prentiss said back in their language, “That’s okay. I speak Spanish.” 

“We could speak it here, or speak it downtown,” Morgan said. “Your choice.”

One of the gang members came forward to the agents. “I’m Pablo,” he replied. “What is it that you want?”

“It’s about Jose Marquez,” Prentiss said. “We’re looking for who killed him.”

“We don’t know but if we find him first, we’ll let you know.”

“Did he have a girlfriend?” Morgan asked.

“Girlfriend? That’s news to me,” Pablo said.

One of the MS-13’s said something in Spanish to Pablo, who then said something back.

“So Jose did have a girlfriend,” Prentiss said. “Do you have a name?”

Pablo asked his pals in Spanish. He turned back to Morgan and Prentiss, and replied. “I’ve never met her, but her name is Kayla. She goes to James Madison High School.”

________________________________________

 

It was lunch time at James Madison High School when Morgan and Prentiss arrived to look for Kayla. On the drive over, Morgan had Garcia look up girls named Kayla who attended James Madison. There was only one Kayla at Madison High school, a senior named Kayla Romero. Garcia sent them a photo to both their cell phones.

Kayla was a brunette, with brown eyes, and a cheerleader at the school. She was not in uniform, but wearing a knit sweater and jeans, when the came up to her.  
“Kayla?” Prentiss asked, as she and Morgan showed their credentials to her. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

They all went to a spot outside the administrative office.

“What is this all about?” Kayla asked.

“It’s about your boyfriend, Jose,” Prentiss replied.

Kayla looked around nervously. 

“I take it your friends didn’t know about him,” Morgan said.

“Well, they kinda already did,” Kayla said. She looked around again. “Did my dad send you?”

“No. Why?”

“When he found out, he hit the roof,” Kayla replied. “He didn’t like the part about him being in a gang.”

“I take it your dad’s a cop?” Prentiss said.

“No, he works for Baltimore Water.”

“Your mom?”

“Nurse at Harborside Hospital. What does that have to do with anything?”

“How did they find out?”

“I’m still not sure about that,” Kayla replied. “Me and Jose hadn’t done anything. We met at Starbucks a couple of times, walked around a park. Nothing really.”

“Doesn’t sound like you were boyfriend and girlfriend,” Prentiss said.

“We did kiss a few times.”

“You were his girlfriend,” Morgan said.

“He wasn’t all that bad,” Kayla said. “Sometimes, he would talk about getting out of the gangs but it would be hard. He even said me being around him could get me into trouble.”

“How did you end up with him in the first place?” Prentiss asked him.

“We met a Starbucks,” Kayla replied. “He was just there. He asked if he could sit with me, we started talking, and we hit it off.”

“You knew he was a gang banger?”

“I figured it out,” Kayla replied. “But I asked him, and he didn’t deny it.”

“Did you see him the day he was killed?” Morgan asked.

“I didn’t. He did call. He was acting a little paranoid, thinking somebody was out to get him.” Kayla began to break down. “He was right.”

“Why? What did he say?” Prentiss asked.

“He said he was out having a smoke when the cops raided where him and his friends hung out,” Kayla replied. “He avoided going home, but he said somebody was following him. He called me and asked if he could stay at my place for an hour but my parents were home and I already been busted for seeing him.”

A tear rolled down her eye. “Like I said,” Kayla said, “he wasn’t all that bad.”

The agents thanked Kayla for her time, and let her go back to her friends.

“Sounds like some of our mobsters and gang bangers wanted to be more than bad asses,” Prentiss said. “They wanted to be normal.”

“Tell that to the person who shot them,” Morgan countered.

“You think this is about some guy who can’t get a date?” Prentiss asked. “A good boy sees a good girl but she’d rather date a bad boy.”

“That would get some guys upset,” Morgan said, “but only to call the cops. This guy has serious issues if he has to resort to killing just to get a date with a girl who probably isn’t interested in him anyway.” He checked his watch. “Let’s head back to the fed building.”

The two of them began to head for the exit when they heard a commotion. Somebody was arguing with someone else. Morgan and Prentiss turned around just in time and heard words that only U.S. Marines use in the heat of battle.

Morgan and Prentiss went over to where the argument was. A teacher came in from the other side and was trying to separate the two verbal combatants. 

One of them was male, the other female. Kayla Romero was next to the girl.

“ – is your problem? I just asked her how was she was doing!” the girl said.

“You’re the damn problem!” the boy said. “Maybe if you hadn’t set her up with that gangbanger – “

“All right that’s it!” the teacher snapped. “It’s over.”

“Not by a longshot,” the boy said back. The girl turned around and tried to walk away when he said, “Mafia princess.”

The girl turned around. “What did you say!?” she demanded.

“You heard me!”

The girl walked up to him and swung an open hand at him. He blocked it with his left arm as he reared back his right hand in fist. He swung it forward…only for Morgan to grab him by the arm before it could do any damage. The students who were watching gasped in shock.

“Don’t you know its not nice to hit girls?” Morgan asked, pushing the boy’s arm away

“There’ll be a lot of happy parents if I did hit her,” the boy snapped back.

“You’re dreaming,” the girl said.

“Go on, get out of here,” Morgan said to the boy. He reluctantly turned around and headed off. He glanced back, only to see Morgan block his view of the girl.

“Are you all right?” Prentiss asked the girl, as the other students dispersed.

“I am,” she replied.

“What’s his problem?” Morgan asked.

“That’s Erik Cordell,” she replied. “Our school’s shining beacon of morality.”

“Why doesn’t he like you?” Prentiss asked.

“Because of my father. He’s a lawyer. Leonard Petralli. I’m his daughter Danielle.”

“Why did he call you a mafia princess?”

“My daddy’s clientele isn’t exactly everyone’s cup of tea,” Danielle replied. “He’s defended some mobsters. And Erik thinks I’m dating all of them or setting them up with girls he wants to ask out.”

“Nice guy,” Prentiss said sarcastically.

“Tell me about it,” Danielle said. “Thanks.” She left to back to class.

As Morgan and Prentiss walked out of the school, Morgan made a call. “Hey, baby mama.”

Garcia replied. “What’s up my main squeeze?”

“Look up a teenaged boy, Erik Cordell. See if he has a criminal record or any red flags.”

“Got it.” They could hear her typing away on the other end. “Sorry, no criminal record.”

“Check what his parents do for a living,” Prentiss suggested.

Garcia said, “According to my magic fingers, his parents are divorced. His mother is a civilian administrator at the local Navy base, and his father is a –“

“Cop?” asked Morgan.

“Homicide detective with the Baltimore PD.”

Morgan looked at Prentiss. “He could be our unsub.” 

_________________________________

The grand jury foreman came out of the jury room and handed the paper to John Layton. The federal prosecutor read the verdict and nodded. 

Down the hallway of the federal courthouse, Layton and Keating walked over to Leonard Petralli and Frank Carlotti.

“Here’s the verdict,” Layton said, handing him the paper with the verdict.

Petralli took the paper and quickly read it.

“We won’t fight it,” he said. “But we expect everything in order before you make any arrests.”

“They will be,” Keating promised.

Petralli and his client walked out of the courthouse, as the noise of downtown Baltimore settled over them, but a pleasant sound broke the monotony.

“Daddy!” Danielle Petralli called out, walking up to him.

“Hi Danielle!” Father and daughter hugged on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse. “How are you doing?”

“I’m all right,” she said, “given what happened.” She told him of her argument with Erik Cordell in school today. “He’s blaming me for everything, especially since he can’t get a date with any girl.”

“Just leave him be,” Petralli said. 

“He called me a Mafia princess.”

Petralli just shook his head. “Grill a cop in open court, and his son loses it instead.”

“Hey Danielle, if you need a date on Saturday night,” Carlotti said, “my son Paul is available.”

“Thanks, but I’ve already got plans,” Danielle said.

The three walked down the street to Carlotti’s car, as they continued their conversation.

The unsub watched as they did. 

She would have to be next.


	8. Chapter 8

Morgan and Prentiss returned to the federal building to update the others. Reid and J.J. told them their findings at the coroner’s office; nothing new with the latest victim Ivan Zavkov. There was no discernable variation on the way he was killed.

Cramer looked inside the conference room. “Any news?”

“We have nothing new,” said Rossi, “except another victim, and a bunch of gang bangers and mobsters chomping at the bit.”

“Actually, we might have a viable suspect,” Morgan said. He relayed their encounter with Erik Cordell over at James Madison High School. “But I don’t think we have enough for an arrest.”

“Maybe a sit down,” said Hotchner. “See what he knows.”

“Well, there’s good news from the other side,” Cramer said. “Layton just had a mobster indicted. Frank Carlotti.”

“I suppose there’s that,” Rossi said.

A few minutes later, Rossi went out into the main hallway. He saw a couple of vending machines and thought a candy bar seemed like a good idea to snack on. He plunked in a few quarters and selected a Hershey chocolate bar. It came out and Rossi picked it up. 

“Excuse me.”

Rossi stepped aside and saw it was Matt Keating. Like Rossi, he put a few quarters in the machine and selected a Hundred Thousand Dollar bar.

“To the victor, go the spoils,” Rossi quoted. “Heard about your indictment against Carlotti. Congratulations.”

Keating looked at him and nodded. Rossi felt the hallway temperature drop about twenty degrees.

“Do you have a problem?” Rossi demanded.

Keating looked at him oddly. “About what?”

“Seems like every time we talk, you seem to get all defensive or territorial,” Rossi pointed out. “Is it me, or is it my team?”

“Nothing personal,” Keating said. “I’m kind of nervous, sometimes reluctant, about meeting new people. Takes me a while to warm up to them and vice-versa.”

“Hey, we’re both on the side of right, and law and order, that kind of thing,” Rossi said.

“I was led to believe that once. I got burned by that. I have trouble trusting people, that’s all.”

“Ex-girlfriend?” Rossi asked.

“Something like that,” Keating said.

“Hey, say no more.”

Keating nodded and headed off, Hundred Dollar Bar in hand. There was a loud beeping, as Rossi saw Keating reach into his pocket for his cell phone as the prosecutor walked away.

Rossi returned to the conference room, his chocolate bar in hand. Cramer was still there with the others.

“Late lunch or early dinner?” J.J. asked when she saw the candy bar.

“Snack,” Rossi replied. “Just saw Keating outside. Apparently, he has trust issues.”

“With who?” Morgan asked.

“Everyone. Sounded to me like it was an ex-girlfriend.”

“Let’s get back to the case,” Hotchner said. “What do we know about our unsub?”

“His victims were all gang bangers or mobsters,” Prentiss said. “All of them young, teens to early twenties.”

“And some of them had girlfriends,” Morgan added. “Bad boy, good girl relationships.”

“And our unsub sounds like the jealous type,” Reid said, “because he was brought up by a cop or a law enforcement official.”

“So our unsub is probably some guy who can’t get a date,” Morgan said. “Like Reid.” There was a light chuckle from the agents, even Reid.

“Sounds like Erik Cordell,” Prentiss said. “His dad’s a cop, doesn’t like a girl because her daddy is a mob lawyer, and can’t get a date because he has law and order issues.”

Rossi thought, issues. Keating has issues. Trust issues. But what would be his motive?

“I still think we should talk with Cordell,” Morgan said. “I don’t want to wait until there’s another body.”

_____________________________________

It was close to six o’clock when Erik Cordell called his father on his cell phone. 

“Hi dad….I’m all right….What about you?....Don’t worry, I’ll be back at eight….I’ll be out for a while….Okay, see ya then…”

Erik pocketed his cell phone, as he resumed his surveillance. Or stalking, depending on one’s perspective.

He was watching Danielle Petralli at the upscale Belvedere Square near downtown. She was gabbing away on her cell phone in one hand and had a shopping bag in the other from one of the more trendier shops, her blonde hair shining under the lights of the square. She could afford it, because of her daddy’s work, defending the wealthiest scum of the earth. Erik didn’t know how much of a criminal her father was, but in his twisted mind, Danielle was about as dirty as he was.

The Square was busy, with lots of people having dinner there or enjoying a drink before headed home. But Erik didn’t care about them. He wanted to get Danielle and show the world – specifically his classmates – just how much of a piece of garbage she was.

Sure, she was a cheerleader, on the honor roll, drove a hot car – classic Mustang, cherry red no less – and was popular with the rest of the student body. But he wasn’t buying it. As far as he was concerned, she was a phony, a liar.

A Mafia princess.

Danielle walked down the main street between the stores and sidewalk cafes, as if she was a character in a romantic comedy movie, her life easy going after finding the man of her dreams. Instead, unbeknownst to her, this was a crime thriller as she was being spied upon or being stalked by someone who really didn’t like her.

Erik kept a good distance as he kept an eye on her. He didn’t understand what everyone saw in her. They saw her as the sweetest, beautiful, most popular girl in school. She wasn’t. She was a lying, larcenous, manipulative, piece of – 

Danielle turned around and made a beeline right for Erik. She didn’t look happy to see him. For him, that was Danielle’s true nature.

“Why are you stalking me, Erik?” Danielle demanded.

“I’m not stalking you,” Erik said back. “Stalking would imply I have romantic feelings for you, which I don’t. Feelings of contempt, definitely.”

“What is exactly is your problem? I try to be friends with you and you treat me like crap.”

“And deservedly so.”

Danielle really wanted to hit him. “Why? Because your dad’s a cop and my dad’s a lawyer?”

Erik corrected. “Mob lawyer.”

“Is that it? You gotta be kidding!”

“No joke. So tell me, which one of your daddy’s clients are you screwing?”

This time, there wasn’t enough time for Erik to stop Danielle from slapping him across his face. But this time, Erik wasn’t going to strike her back.

“Thank you for confirming what I already know,” Erik said smugly, the sting subsiding on his face.

Danielle turned around and walked away, leaving Erik in the middle of Belvedere Square.

Five minutes later, she was in the parking garage a block away from the square. Her cherry red Mustang was the fourth floor of the structure. 

With her free hand, Danielle took out her keyless remote to unlock the door. The door unlocked but she heard steps coming up from behind her.

She turned around and said, “Damn it, Erik, why – “ She stopped when she saw the person. “Sorry, thought you were someone else.” Danielle looked at the person who was approaching her. “Wait, I know you.”

She realized who it was but too late before the unsub raised the .32 caliber automatic and cocked the hammer.

The unsub said, “You should’ve been a good little girl.”


	9. Chapter 9

The agents were about to head back to their hotel when they were informed of a murder in a parking garage near Belvedere Square. The victim was killed the same way as the others but this victim was different.

For starters, it was a female. 

“And she was only seventeen,” Rossi said, as he and the other agents stood over the crime scene inside the parking garage where Danielle Petralli’s body was found. The Baltimore police had cordoned off the section where the body was found.

Danielle Petralli was found slumped next to her car. She had been killed the same way – the unsub shoved a gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. There was blood down the front of her blouse and on the side of the car where she was slumped, looking like she was sitting down. 

“We talked to that girl earlier today,” Prentiss said. “She was a high school senior.”

“And that guy called her a Mafia princess,” Morgan added. 

“Her father is Leonard Petralli, the mob lawyer,” Cramer said. “Cops are still canvassing the area, looking for witnesses.”

“Does this change the profile?” J.J. asked. “Our unsub killed a female.”

“The victims have been the brothers or sons of criminals who were dating good girls,” Hotchner said. “Maybe she was dating someone who our unsub believed she shouldn’t have been dating.”

“I think the profile would still hold,” Reid said. “Unless the unsub is killing for a different reason altogether.”

“Find this guy, Erik Cordell,” Hotchner said. “Bring him in for questioning.”

____________________________________________

 

Reid and Prentiss went down the concourse of Belvedere Square. They questioned the people there if they had seen Danielle Petralli in the Square prior to her shooting inside the parking garage. J.J. was dealing with the press, as she told reporters at the scene that the FBI were helping the Baltimore police investigate a murder in the nearby parking garage. 

Most of the people they asked said they had seen Danielle Petralli get into an argument with a young male, about the same age, before she left.

“They’re all saying Danielle slapped the guy,” Reid reported. “Must have been a really nice guy.”

“But no one saw what happened inside the garage,” Prentiss said. “That’s what we need.”

A Baltimore police officer came up to the agents. “I have a woman who says she overheard something in the garage,” he said to them.

“Where is she?” Prentiss asked.

The officer led them to the woman. She was waiting next to a police cruiser.

“This is Amy Lanstrom,” the officer said. The woman was around 40 years old, with sandy blonde hair. “She may have heard something in the garage at the time of the shooting.”

“What did you hear?” Reid asked.

“I heard the shot,” Miss Lanstrom replied. “I was getting out of my car when I heard it. I got back inside and called 9-1-1 on my cell phone.”

“Did you see the assailant?” Prentiss asked.

“No, I didn’t. But I heard some voices. A man and a woman.”

Reid said to Prentiss, “She heard our unsub.”

“What did they say?” Prentiss asked.

“I heard the female voice say something like, ‘I thought you were someone else’ then she said, ‘I know you.’ Then I heard a man say, ‘You should have been a good little girl.’ That’s when I heard the gunshot.”

Reid and Prentiss looked at each other. “Sounds like the unsub and the victim knew each other,” Reid said.

“But was it Erik Cordell?” asked Prentiss.

____________________________________________

 

One hour later, Erik Cordell was brought to the federal building for questioning. He was placed in an interrogation room. His father, a detective with the Baltimore police, was there as well, meeting with the agents.

“What did my son do?” Edward Cordell demanded to the agents.

“He got into it with a girl at school,” Morgan replied, “and now that girl is dead.”

“Which girl?”

“Her name was Danielle Petralli,” Hotchner replied.

“I don’t believe this,” Cordell said as he shook his head. “I told him to back off that girl.”

“I understand you have a history with her father,” Rossi said.

“Her father is a criminal attorney,” Cordell said. “He grilled me a couple of times. No big deal.”

“What was your son’s problem with her,” Morgan said.

“He’s so paranoid. Just because her father is a mob lawyer doesn’t mean she’s with the mob.”

“So he doesn’t like mobsters,” Rossi said. “Let’s see if it extends to all Italian-Americans.” 

Edward Cordell said to the agents, “If your questions get too close or if I don’t like where they’re headed, I’m going to put a stop to this and call a lawyer.”

“We understand,” Hotchner replied.

Rossi and Hotchner went inside the interrogation room. Erik Cordell was sat up in his chair when they entered.

“What am I doing here?” Erik asked.

Hotchner introduced himself and Rossi. “So, Danielle Petralli,” Rossi asked. “We understand you didn’t like her.”

“That’s correct,” Erik replied.

“Why is that?”

“She’s a Mafia princess.”

“Why do you call her that?”

“Her daddy is a mob lawyer and she sometimes does his bidding for him.”

“Does everyone else believe that?” Hotchner asked.

“No,” Erik replied. “She has them all suckered. She just flips her hair or bats her eyes, and everyone goes nuts for her. I didn’t fall for it.” He then said, “She’s a manipulating – “

“Careful,” Rossi warned. “That’s someone’s daughter you’re talking about.”

“So?” 

“Where were you tonight?” Hotchner asked.

“I went out,” Erik answered. “Belvedere Square.”

“We heard you ran into her over there,” Rossi said.

“I did. She thought I was stalking her. I wasn’t. I was hoping to catch her with one of her daddy’s clients.”

“Instead she caught you. She smacked you. What did you say to her?”

“Nothing much. Just asked her which one of her daddy’s clients was doing her.”

Hotchner and Rossi let that statement hang in the air.

“What did you do next?” Rossi asked.

Erik replied, “I went home. That’s where you guys found me. Me and my dad.” He looked at the agents, then said, “What happened? Little miss Mafia princess said I did something to her?”

“Did you?”

A look of worry came across Erik’s face. “No. Why?”

“She’s dead,” Hotchner replied. “Murdered.”

Erik looked at both agents, then his face broke out a wide grin. “Really? Which one of her daddy’s clients did it?”

“You think that’s funny?” Rossi asked.

“I think it’s poetic,” Erik replied. “Piece of garbage like her getting killed by a dirtbag her daddy was probably defending.”

The door to the interrogation room opened up and in walked Edward Cordell, keeping his promise.

“Are you stopping this interrogation?” Hotchner asked.

“No,” Cordell said. “I’m going to tell my son to stop being a smartass and start telling the truth.”

“I am!” Erik countered. “I didn’t kill her! I left Belvedere Square after I talked to her and went straight home.”

“Anybody see you?” Hotchner asked.

“A lot of people. It was Belvedere Square for crying out loud.”

“Anyone who can vouch for you? Someone who actually saw you leave?”

“Somebody did.” Prentiss came into the interrogation room. “A couple of people saw him leave in his car at the time of the murder. A blue Honda. This was at the lot east of the Square.”

The agents gave Erik Cordell a look that basically said, _You’re a jerk but you didn’t do it._

“You can take your son home,” Rossi said to Cordell. “He didn’t do it.”

Erik got up and said, “I’d like to thank the person who did – “

“Shut up!” his father snapped. His son did, albeit reluctantly. Father and son left the room and went out into the main hallway. The others watched as they waited for the elevator.

The elevator opened up and out walked John Layton, along with a gray haired man in an impeccable pinstripe dark blue suit. 

“We’re doing everything to find the person responsible for your daughter’s death,” Layton was saying to him. The man in the suit was obviously Leonard Petralli.

“Well, well well,” Erik broke in. “if isn’t the father of the dev – “

“Erik, shut up,” Cordell warned. “NOW.”

Erik looked at Petralli and vice versa. Erik then said, “Your daughter’s just like you. She liked getting dirtbags off.”

Petralli grabbed Erik and shoved him against the wall. Hotchner and Morgan ran over and pried Petralli off him, as the defense lawyer called him words that were not legal terms.

“Dammit Erik, what’s the matter with you?!” Cordell demanded.

“He knows what his daughter’s like!” Erik said back, straightening himself out.

“Did he kill my daughter?” Petralli demanded, as both Hotchner and Morgan let him go.

“No, unfortunately,” Morgan said. “He’s not our guy.”

“I hope you meet the guy who did,” Erik said to Petralli. “I’d like to thank him.” Cordell grabbed his son and pulled him into the elevator. 

“My daughter tried to be friends with that guy,” Petralli said to the agents, as the elevator doors closed. “I’m glad she didn’t.”

The agents introduced themselves. “Do you have any idea who would do this to your daughter?” Hotchner asked.

“No, I don’t,” Petralli said. “I really don’t. I know you guys see a mob lawyer and I get that. But my daughter wasn’t anything like that. She was sweet and kind to everybody. And she never met any of my clients. Ever. Who would do this to her?”

Rossi replied, “Someone who was taking it out on you by killing her. Someone who thought she wasn’t the kind, sweet person you and everyone else saw.”

“You just described Erik Cordell,” Petralli said.

“It’s someone else,” Rossi said.


	10. Chapter 10

Susan Layton answered her cell phone on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hi Susan,” her father replied.

“Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Are you home right now?”

“Not yet? Why?"

“I had to go back to the office. There’s been another murder.”

“Oh my God. How long will you be?”

“Who knows? Just be home when I get back, okay?”

“I will.” She clicked off her cell phone.

“How’s your dad?” Paul asked. The two of them were inside his car in Patterson Park.

“He had to get back to the office. Some big murder case he’s working with the feds.”

“He still doesn’t know?”

“No. Your dad either?”

“Same. I want to tell him.”

“I know. But we have to tell him and my dad in a way so they won’t freak out. Do you know how it would look if the daughter of a federal prosecutor was dating the son of a guy he’s trying to prosecute?”

“It’s getting to the point where I don’t care what other people think.”

“We’ll tell them. Soon.”

They didn’t notice that a couple of hundred feet away, someone, the unsub, parked in another car, was watching them.

__________________________________________________

 

“So if Erik Cordell is not the unsub,” said J.J., “who could it be?”

“Still sounds like a jilted boyfriend or a guy who can’t get a date,” Morgan said.

The agents were inside the conference room discussing the case now that Erik Cordell had been ruled out as a suspect. He was a jerk, but not the unsub.

“So let’s go over what we know,” Hotchner said. “Our unsub is someone who doesn’t like gangbangers dating good girls, some of whom have cops for fathers.”

“Our unsub could’ve known one of those girls, and that’s what set him off,” Rossi said.

“But from what we could tell,” Reid said, “some of those relationships weren’t even known.”

“And this last murder seems to be a bit of a break from our unsub,” Prentiss said. “Our unsub killed a female.”

“Sounds like he did it out of spite,” Hotchner said. “Anything about killing that stands out?”

“We did have a witness, though she didn’t see anything,” Prentiss replied. “She heard the unsub say something before he killed Danielle Petralli.”

“What?”

“The unsub supposedly said, ‘You should’ve been a good little girl.’”

That sentence caught Rossi’s attention. “Say that again,” he said to Prentiss.

She repeated, “‘You should’ve been a good little girl.’”

“What’s wrong Dave?” Hotchner asked.

“Yesterday, after we gave the profile,” Rossi recounted. “We met Layton’s daughter Susan. She said she was going to see a friend.”

“And?”

“Keating told her to ‘be a good little girl.’”

Hotchner said, “C’mon Dave, that’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Maybe.” He opened up his cell phone and dialed up Quantico’s favorite computer hacker.

“Hey Rossi,” Garcia greeted.

“Garcia, I need a background check on Matt Keating, a federal prosecutor here in Baltimore.”

“Coming up!”

“Why would a federal attorney want to kill someone just because they’re related to a mobster or gangbanger?” asked J.J.

“We’ll soon find out.” Rossi put his phone on speaker. “Garcia?”

“Got it!” She said from Quantico.

“What do you have?” Rossi asked.

“First the good,” Garcia replied. “Graduated from Georgetown Law School with honors. Been with the US Attorney’s office out of Baltimore for the past ten years.” At that moment, agent Josh Cramer walked into the conference room. Garcia continued, “He’s had an impressive record with numerous convictions.”

“You did a background check on Keating?” Cramer questioned. “What for?”

“We’re about to find out,” Rossi said to him. “What’s the bad?”

“Well, his family history is checkered,” Garcia said. “His father, Miles Keating, was a top prosecutor. As you know, he convicted Sammy Santiago. But that was his last big case.”

“What happened?” Hotchner asked.

“I can tell you that,” Cramer said. “His wife Laura was killed.”

“In a car with another man,” Garcia finished. “Undercover cop with the Baltimore police.”

“She was having an affair?” Prentiss asked.

“But nobody knew the guy was a cop at the time,” Cramer said. “When it came out, the local police kept quiet. By the time the truth came out, Keating’s dad had already stepped down. The cops didn’t say anything out of fear it might compromise any current investigations. And it turned out the cop wasn’t even on an assignment when he was killed.”

“Both were sitting together in a car at the time of the murders,” Garcia said. “Killer shot them through the front windshield with a .38 caliber weapon. Both dead at the scene.”

“Keating’s dad was prosecuting another mob boss at the time,” Cramer said. “They had to declare a mistrial. Some people thought it was ironic that his wife was carrying on with a wise guy behind his back but they didn’t know the truth at the time. In fact, we’re not even sure if it was an affair. When the truth about the other guy being a cop came out, it was too late.”

“Sounds like the mob found out the guy was undercover and killed him,” J.J. said. “Keating’s mother was in the wrong place, wrong time.”

“Send us all the information you can,” Rossi said to Garcia.

“On it way!” Garcia said as the line disconnected.

Prentiss opened up her laptop and the information that Garcia sent arrived. 

“According to this, it looks like Miles Keating resigned in disgrace,” Prentiss said. “When it came out it was a cop, everyone said they were sorry but it was too late.”

“Who was the cop?” asked Morgan.

Prentiss replied, “His name was Bobby Cavelli.”

The name was Italian. Maybe that’s why Keating had a problem with Rossi. Deep down psychologically, he didn’t like anyone with an Italian surname.

“He thinks everyone who is Italian is in the mob,” Rossi groused.

“It has to be more than that,” J.J. said.

“Maybe it’s because he saw these good girls dating so called bad boys,” Prentiss said, “even though a couple of them were bad boys in name only.”

“So what do we tell Layton?” Cramer asked.

“The truth,” Hotchner replied.

_________________________________________

 

“Matt is your unsub?” Layton exclaimed. “That’s crazy! And he’s not!”

“It’s a possibility,” Hotchner said. Hotchner, Rossi, and Cramer were in Layton’s office.

“Why? Because of a sentence he said to you?” Layton said to Rossi.

“And your daughter” Rossi returned. “Things like that have a tendency to stick out.” 

“He’s not going to kill someone just because a wise guy is dating a good girl,” Layton said. 

“His mother was supposedly having an affair with someone who everyone thought was a wise guy when she was killed, and it cost his father his job,” Rossi said. “That’s what we call a stressor.”

“Matt got over it,” Layton insisted. “So did his father. Miles knew the guy wasn’t a mobster. He just didn’t know he was a cop.”

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously. After Laura was killed, I knew what people were saying. A federal prosecutor’s wife screwing around with a wise guy. It came out of the blue. But there was no trouble in the marriage. And the guy was an undercover cop. It all came out in the wash but by then it was too late.”

“So they never caught the killer?” Rossi asked.

“They figured it was the mob,” Layton said. “Someone found out Cavelli was a cop and they shot him. Laura Keating was in the wrong place, wrong time.”

“Where’s Keating’s office?” Hotchner asked. “Maybe we can find evidence one way or the other. Can we look through his office?”

“His office is down the hall,” Layton said. “But you’re wrong. He can’t possibly be the one doing this.”

The agents and Layton went down the hall to Keating’s office. There were piles of files on his desk, cluttered among other things.

“What are we looking for?” Cramer asked. “I take it won’t be screaming ‘I’m a psycho!’”

“No, it’s something more subtle,” Hotchner said, as him and Rossi began to look through the papers and files.

“Such as?”

“This,” Rossi said, holding up an 8x10 photo from a file folder. He showed the others the photo. It was of two teenagers outside a coffee shop.

“That’s your daughter, I believe,” Rossi said to Layton. “Who’s the guy?”

Layton studied the photo. “I’ve seen him before.”

“Here’s another photo,” Rossi said. “Apparently, he’s had him under surveillance for a while.”

The photo was of the man, talking to an older man, framed by a window. The photo was taken from a faraway distance.

“That’s Frank Carlotti!” Layton exclaimed. “But who’s the younger guy?”

“I’m guessing that’s his son,” Rossi said.

“Son? We had Carlotti under surveillance. Not once did we see him with his son. Hell, we didn’t know he had a son!”

“One way to be sure,” Rossi said, taking out his cell phone. “Garcia?”

“Hello, there. What do you need from the empress of cyberspace?”

“Frank Carlotti. He’s a mobster. See if he has a son named Paul.”

There was the sound of quick typing on the other end of the phone. Finally, Garcia said, “Frank Carlotti, alleged mobster, does officially have a son. He just goes by another name. Paul Torrance. Student at a private school in Baltimore.”

“How in the hell did we miss that?” Layton exclaimed. “We had Carlotti under surveillance and we never saw him with his son.”

“Birth certificates don’t lie,” Garcia said from Quantico. “According to the birth certificate, his wife’s maiden name is Torrance. She died a couple of years ago from cancer.”

“How did we miss him?”

“Apparently, Keating had done some surveillance on Carlotti by himself without your knowledge,” Rossi said.

“He wasn’t the only one he was doing surveillance on,” Cramer said, holding up another 8x10 photo. It was another surveillance photo taken far away – of Ivan Zavkov, talking to a young woman.

“Thanks, Garcia,” Rossi said, closing his cell phone. He said to Layton, “It doesn’t matter how you missed him. What matters now is that we have to find your daughter and Paul Torrance before Keating does.”


	11. Chapter 11

The agents got Keating’s address, as Morgan and J.J. went to Keating’s home. Reid and Prentiss went to the address of Paul Torrance. Rossi and Hotchner, along with Cramer and Layton, headed to the home of Frank Carlotti.

Once there at Carlotti’s home, the agents pounded on the front door. “FBI!” Hotchner called out. “Open up!”

The door opened. “What is this?” Frank Carlotti demanded.

“Where’s your son, Paul?” Rossi asked.

“What are you talking about? Carlotti demanded.

“Now is not the time to play dumb,” Layton said back. “Where is he?”

“He’s not here!”

“Let us in,” Hotchner said. “We need to talk.” The agents went inside.

“Don’t you need a warrant?” Carlotti asked.

“For this, no, and we don’t have time,” Rossi said. “We believe your son is in danger.”

“From what?”

The agents looked at Layton, who seemed obviously reluctant to reveal the truth. Finally, he said, “Your son is dating my daughter.” 

“What are you talking about – ”

“We know about your son Paul.” Hotchner interjected “You probably had him raised away from your business. He’s a good kid, but not in the eyes of our serial killer.”

“Serial killer?” Carlotti exclaimed.

“It turns out his second in command has been killing gang bangers and the sons of mobsters for the past few weeks,” Hotchner said. “Earlier tonight, he killed your lawyer’s daughter.”

Carlotti mouth dropped open the proverbial country mile. 

“And he could be after your son next,” Rossi concluded. “Where is he?”

It took a while for Carlotti to get his faculties together, but he managed to take out his cell phone. As he dialed up a number, Hotchner’s cell phone rang. “What is it, Morgan?”

“Keating’s not home,” Morgan replied. “His car isn’t here either. J.J. found some more surveillance photos in his home. Some of them were of the previous victims.”

“Stay there just in case he comes back,” Hotchner said. Another call came in. It was Prentiss.

“Hotch, we’re at Paul Torrance’s address,” she said. “He lives with his aunt. He’s not home.”

“Any idea where he might be?”

Prentiss replied, “No, but his aunt said he has a girlfriend. She thinks he’s out with her.”

Hotch told her to stay there just in case Paul Torrance returned. He looked at Carlotti. 

“I’m calling my son,” he said.

_________________________________________

 

Paul’s cell phone rang. It took three rings for him to answer. He was too busy kissing Susan to answer before then. Both of them were in his car, parked in seclusion in Patterson Park. Immediately, he recognized the number.

“Dad?” 

“Paul, where are you?”

“Dad, what’s going on – “

“Just tell me where you are!”

“Dad, I’m in Patterson Park. What’s going on?”

“Paul, this is Agent Hotchner with the FBI. Are you alone or with someone?”

“FBI? What is this?”

Carlotti yelled, “Dammit Paul, answer him!”

“I’m with someone!” Paul responded.

“Susan Layton?”

Susan was surprised to hear her name. “How did they know?”

Paul asked, “Dad, what’s going on?”

“Listen to me,” Carlotti said. “We’re on our way. Stay where you are. Are you in your car?”

“I am,” Paul replied, “I mean, we are.”

“Stay there until we get there and – “ 

The sentence was interrupted by something shattering, followed by cursing and screaming. 

Paul said, “What the hell – “ 

And the line went dead.

________________________________

 

The driver’s side window was shattered while Paul was talking on the phone with his father. Susan screamed as they were both taken by surprise, as Paul dropped his phone.

“What the hell – “ Paul stopped when he saw the .32 caliber automatic pointed at them from outside.

“Get out of the car,” Matt Keating demanded. “Now.”

________________________________

The cars carrying agents Hotchner, Rossi, and Cramer, along with Frank Carlotti and John Layton, were speeding towards Patterson Park. Hotchner, Layton, and Cramer were in Cramer’s Lincoln, Rossi and Carlotti were in the SUV.

“I didn’t know my son was dating his daughter,” Carlotti said. “He lives his own life. He doesn’t always tell me everything. He’s a teenager.”

“He obviously didn’t want you to know he was dating the daughter of the guy who’s about to prosecute you,” Rossi said.

“What does that make them?” Carlotti asked. “Romeo and Juliet?”

“Hopefully, it won’t end that way.”

In the other car, Layton asked, “How could I not know this?”

“Your daughter obviously didn’t want you to know,” Cramer said. “She’s probably was trying to figure out a way to tell you.”

Hotchner’s cell phone rang. “What is it Garcia?”

“I found out more about Laura Keating and Bobby Cavelli,” Garcia replied. “They weren’t having an affair.”

“They weren’t?”

“They were just old friends. They knew each other in high school. Oxen Hill in Fort Washington. They were probably just sitting and talking in the car when they were killed.”

“And I think I have a pretty good idea who killed them,” Hotchner said.

The cars barreled into the main entrance of Patterson Park.

_________________________________________________

“Why are you doing this?” Susan asked.

“Just keep moving!” Keating said back.

He forced Paul and Susan ahead of him, through a grove of trees to a clearing. The area was sloped, and they were on the downward side, the rise of a small hill behind them.

“Here,” Keating said, “stop.”

Paul and Susan stopped, and turned around.

“Just what is it that you want?” Paul demanded.

Keating replied by whipping the butt of the gun across Paul’s face. Susan screamed as Paul fell.

He quickly turned his attention back to Susan. “How could you do this your father?!” Keating demanded.

“What are you talking about?” Susan asked back.

“You know what he is! You know what his father is!”

“He’s my friend!”

“His dad’s a mobster! How could you do this to your father!?”

“So? Paul has nothing to do with him!”

“Is that what this is about?” Paul said, getting up.

Keating pointed the .32 back at Paul.

“Tell me, what does your dad get out of this?” he asked. “An acquittal?”

“His father didn’t know about us!” Susan said. “Not until just now!”

Keating looked at Susan. “Now?”

“The feds were with him,” Paul said. “They found out.”

Keating looked at Paul, then Susan, then back at Paul.

He then said, “Tell me, did your father ask you to screw her for info?” Keating looked at Susan, saying to her, “Or did you jump him because you trying to get back at your father for something that never happened?”

“What is with you?” Susan screamed back. “We’re friends! So what!?”

“So!” Keating yelled back. “Can’t you see what he’s doing?!"

“For crying out loud, you’re paranoid!” Paul said.

Keating responded again by slugging Paul, knocking him down.

“Paul!” Susan screamed. She tried to go to him, but Keating blocked her way, shoving her back.

“You’re not doing this to your father!” Keating yelled at her. “You’re not going to mess everything up me and him did just for you to get your jollies!”

“Is that what you think?” Susan snapped back.

“It is what I think! And I’ve been right. All those bangers and mobsters dating all those good girls,” Keating ranted. “Embarrassing their parents, making them look bad and for what? A good time? Girls like you! What’s the matter? A good boy ain’t good enough?”

“What is wrong with you?” Susan demanded. “Why do you care who I’m dating?”

“Screwing!” Keating snapped back. He glanced over at Paul, making sure he didn’t try anything. “Why are you screwing the likes of him, knowing what he is and what your dad does? Your father is a good man and I’m not going to let you ruin him by dating the enemy!”

He raised his gun and pointed at Susan. She began to shiver with the fear that he might pull the trigger.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Keating said. “I have too much respect for your father to do that. When this is over, you are going to forget about him.” He pointed at Paul. “You are never going to see guys like him ever again. You are going to be a good little girl, whether you want to be or not.”

Keating turned to face Paul, cocking the hammer of the .32 automatic.

“As for you,” he said to Paul, “I want you to give a message to your father.”

Keating quickly grabbed Paul by the collar and pointed the .32 automatic at his mouth.

Suddenly, someone yelled out, “I got a better idea! Why don’t you tell me that message to my face!”


	12. Chapter 12

Frank Carlotti walked towards them, his fists balled up, looking for a fight.

The agents had found Paul Torrance’s car parked along the path and got out to look for them, just minutes after Keating had taken them hostage. A couple of telltale footprints led the agents to them.

“Dad!” Paul cried out.

Keating pulled Paul closer to him, pressing the barrel of the .32 to his face. 

“Put it down!” Rossi demanded, pointing his Springfield .45 automatic at Keating, as he moved alongside Carlotti. Some feet away behind them, Cramer, Hotchner, and Layton were coming up. Cramer and Hotchner had their weapons drawn as well.

Keating saw Rossi. “Figures,” he said with disgust. 

“What, you really think I’m with the mob?” Rossi said. “And what does that make you?”

“I’m the good guy here,” Keating said back. “Not him.”

“You’re wrong,” Rossi said. “He’s a father and he wants his son back.”

Layton came up alongside Carlotti. “Matt, what are you doing!?”

“Dad!” Susan called out. She moved towards her father but Keating pointed the gun at her quickly, then back to Paul.

“She was sleeping with him!” Keating shouted. “She was going to wreck the case! She was going to ruin your career!”

“Let her go!” Layton demanded. “Let them both go!”

“NO!” Keating snapped back. “He has to pay for this! He can’t ruin everything you worked for!”

“Just like your mom did to your dad?” Rossi asked, his weapon still aimed at Keating. 

Keating looked over at Rossi. "What?”

“We know about your mom and her friend,” Rossi said.

“They were just friends,” Hotchner said. “They were just sitting there, talking, weren’t they? But you didn’t know that, did you?”

It was a guess. Even so, that seemed to confuse Keating, but the .32 was still against Paul’s face.

“You saw them together,” Rossi said. “But you thought your mom was fooling around behind your dad’s back, didn’t you?”

“She was with him,” Keating finally said. “She knew what he was.”

“You didn’t know he was a cop,” Cramer said. “No one else knew at the time.”

“I saw him earlier,” Keating said. “He met with one of families here in Baltimore. Then I saw him with my mom. My mom and dad had been fighting over how much time he was working. But he was doing the right thing. My mom went behind his back.”

“She probably went to see him as a friend,” Hotchner said. “But you killed them because you didn’t know that.”

That shook Keating loose. He began to remember that night and what led up to it….

_Dad was late coming back from the office. His mom left the house, and Matt followed her on his bike. He had taken a gun, a .32 caliber revolver he had borrowed from a classmate, with him._  
_Outside an Italian restaurant a few blocks away from their home, he saw his mother get out of his car and go over to another car and get inside. It was dark, save for a light in the alley. He quietly moved around to the front and saw them through the front windshield. He could see them clearly. They were talking, then laughing, then…..she put her arms around him and kissed him. It wasn’t a quick kiss, it was long, emphatic…._  
_It was wrong. How could she do this to dad? And with some wise guy…a hood…a mobster._  
_He took out the .32 and pointed it at them. They had both stopped kissing…and she looked forwards at him._  
_She shouted out something but he didn’t hear her. He kept on firing, as the windshield shattered…._

“You killed her, didn’t you?!” Rossi said to Keating. “Her and Bobby”

“They were just friends, that’s all!” Cramer said.

“How did you feel when you found out?” Rossi asked. “You killed them for nothing!”

“Matt!” Layton shouted. “It’s over. Put the gun down.”

Keating looked at his boss, then at Paul. 

“You don’t want it to end like this!” Layton said. “Don’t throw your life away because of this!”

“I can’t let them ruin you!” Keating said back. “The way my father got ruined!”

“It’s over!” Rossi said.

Carlotti stepped forward. “Let my son go!” he said. “It’s me you want! I’m the criminal, not him! He’s done nothing to you!” He raised his hands and opened them up, as if in surrender.

“What are you doing?” Layton demanded.

“Let my son go!” Carlotti demanded. 

Keating looked at Paul, Carlotti took another step towards him.

“Fine,” Keating said coldly. He raised the gun and pointed it at Carlotti.

Rossi fired first. The bullet struck Keating in the shoulder of his gun arm, snapping him back. Keating’s gun fired wildly in the air as he fell to the ground, and he let go of the weapon.

Hotchner and Cramer quickly ran up to Keating, as Hotchner took Keating’s weapon, and Cramer kept his service weapon trained on Keating.

“Paul!” Susan cried out, as she went over to him and embraced him. The two kissed, as their fathers watched.

“Not quite Romeo and Juliet,” Rossi said, as he holstered his weapon.

“Definitely not,” Hotchner added, as Keating writhed on the ground in pain from his bullet wound and defeat.

_____________________________________________

The question was obvious.

“So how long have you two been going out?” Layton asked his daughter.

“About three months,” Susan replied.

“So why didn’t you tell me you were dating her?” Carlotti asked his son.

“We’d know the both of you would freak out if we did,” Paul replied.

“Three months ago, we would have,” Layton replied.

The rest of the BAU had arrived at Patterson Park, as did an ambulance to take Matt Keating to the hospital. Police cruisers were there as well.

“How’d you two meet?” Carlotti asked.

“We met at this diner after school one day,” Paul answered. “We just hit it off. There was nothing wrong with it.”

“About a week after we met, Paul told me who his father was, and I told him about you,” Susan said to her father. “But we didn’t care. We wanted to be friends.”

“We’re sorry about keeping this is a secret, even with the indictment,” Paul said.

From a distance, Rossi and Hotchner watched the parents talk to their kids.

“They’re talking,” Rossi said. “That’s a good sign.”

The ambulance had taken Keating away. Cramer came over to Hotchner and Rossi.

“Keating will be charged with six counts of murder,” he informed them. “I can’t believe he would do this.”

“He thought he was doing his boss a favor,” Hotchner said. “Seeing his boss daughter’s with a mobster’s son was his stressor. That’s when he began looking for the so called bad boys dating the good girls. It brought up all those memories of his mother and her friend.”

They looked at Paul and Susan and their fathers.

“I’m guessing that Layton will have to recuse himself from the prosecution,” Hotchner said. “It would be the best move.”

They watched as Paul and Susan embraced each other again and kissed. They couldn’t see the reaction of the fathers, but they were guessing they were fine with it.

“Thanks for everything,” Cramer said. 

“Glad we could help,” Hotchner said.

Hotchner and Rossi headed to the SUV’s where the other agents were waiting.

“How would you like it if Jack,” Rossi asked, “when he got older, dated the daughter of a serial killer?”

“As long as she isn’t a serial killer, I guess I’d be fine with it,” Hotchner replied. He looked back at the couple and their fathers. “I guess they’re fine with it too.”

“You know, this weekend,” Rossi said, “I think I’ll head up to Long Island. Visit Ray and Emma.”

“Sounds good,” Hotchner said.

The agents got in their SUV’s and headed out of Baltimore. Soon, Paul Torrance – or Paul Carlotti – and Susan Layton headed out as well, walking hand in hand, as their respective fathers watched.

_______________________________________ 

_“The only wealth in this world is children, more than all the power and money on Earth.”_ – Mario Puzo.


End file.
